


War Games

by Kitty_Kinneas



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, stuck on a planet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 06:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_Kinneas/pseuds/Kitty_Kinneas
Summary: Vulcan superiority has never been question for as long as Jim has been alive, but Jim has never accepted it. The rivalry between the two races is heated and all-consuming. But now, Star Fleet, Earth and Vulcan have made the decision to bring the two races back onto a more even footing.That doesn't mean Spock and Jim can reconcile their life-long differences.





	War Games

**Author's Note:**

> My second contribution to the Star Trek Reverse Bang. A more serious fic than "It was Uhura's Fault", but equally as fun to write. This is set in a somewhat altered universe, mostly drawing from the movies. This fic is also accompanied by art by the most amazing @trailsofpaper (Sanwall here on AO3)

@trailsofpaper / Sanwall's amazing art!

\- - - - - - -

Intermittent red light pulsed through Jim’s closed eyelids, stabbing into his brain like a knife. Slowly, sounds began to come to him through the fuzzy white rushing in his ears and a moment later, he remembered the rushing came from the feedback explosion he’d seen coming just in time to tackle Chekov away from his instrument panel.

 

Someone was spitting curses - Scotty, he thought, but the comms were crackling, muting most of the colourful gaelic language the Chief Engineer was treating them to. It was doing nothing but intensifying the ache in his head.

 

“Scotty. Shut up,” he ground through his teeth, forcing his eyes open.

 

_“Captain?! I thought you were dead!”_

 

“I wish I was,” Jim muttered to himself, then louder; “Not yet. Damage report.”

 

_“She’s runnin’ at fifty percent power at best, Captain. I cannae get more from her yet. They took out the wiring between our port nacelle and the power couplings.”_ There was a long pause, then; _“Dinnae they understand the concept of War Games, Captain?”_

 

“Oh, they understand,” Jim said, finally struggling to his feet. The view screen flickered beyond Chekov’s ruined station, but the picture was still clear enough. The _Ahn’Vahr_ hovered, her sleek lines gleaming in the light of the nearest star. Waiting. Taunting.

 

_Just like fucking_ always _,_ Jim thought, his eyes narrowing in a mix of fury and the pain in his head.

 

“If that’s how it’s gonna be, then that’s how it’s gonna be,” he said darkly. “Chekov, you okay?”

 

“Da - Yes. Yes, Sir,” Chekov replied, already setting himself up at another station.

 

“Can you make do?”

 

“Naturally, Captain.” Chekov’s tone was low, tight and determined.

 

“Tell me what you see.”

 

“Their weapons are fully powered, Captain, but I cannot tell if they are preparing to fire with true phasers again, or the mock phasers we are supposed to be using.”

 

Sulu turned in his chair in a little. “Maybe we should fire with the mock phasers, Captain. You know, be the bigger man.”

 

Jim took his chair and leaned back in it, regarding his bridge crew silently for a long moment. “Anyone want to be the bigger man - or woman?” He grinned at Uhura who snorted. Even Sulu didn’t back up his own argument. Jim gave them a good minute or two to answer, knowing instinctively the _Ahn’Vahr_ wouldn’t fire again until it got a response. “Right, then. Ensign Chekov, target their weapons. They outgun us and if we can’t take down their phasers, we’re done.”

 

“Aye, Captain.”

 

“Kirk to Engineering, Mr. Scott, you there?”

 

_“Aye, Captain?”_

 

“Can you give me evasive maneuvers?”

 

Scotty made a noncommittal sound that edged slightly towards an affirmative, so Jim took it that way. “Good. Sulu, ready evasive pattern Kirk Beta Seven.”

 

“Aye, Sir.”

 

“That ship has a heat sink problem in the phaser pistons. If she rapid-fires for longer than a minute, she heats up, and the pistons sit right beside the ignition port for the shots,” Jim said.

 

“Sir, are you suggesting we take fire for longer than a minute?” Chekov asked wryly.

 

“Shouldn’t need a full minute if we keep firing on the pistons too,” Jim said, shrugging nonchalantly. “And they won’t want to wreck the _Enterprise_. Even they wouldn’t get away with that.”

 

“Aye, Sir. On your mark.”

 

“Mark,” Jim said grimly.

 

Sparks spun from the _Ahn’Vahr’s_ phaser bank, which immediately began firing back.  
  
“Sulu, give me that evasive pattern.”

 

It was a struggle. Without full power _Enterprise_ wasn’t as nimble as she usually was, but Scotty had given them enough to at least avoid the full brunt of the _Ahn’Vahr’s_ phaser blasts - none of which were mock. The ship shuddered and whined, parts of her coming apart under the onslaught. But it was all carefully regulated to cause no injury. Even the explosion earlier, Jim was sure, had not been intended. There might have been an unexpected loose wire or short in Chekov’s panel.

 

It didn’t take a full minute, as Jim had predicted. It was probably about forty seconds before the _Ahn’Vahr’s_ phaser bank sparked alarmingly, began to smoke, then with one final whoomph of energy, she stopped firing.

 

“Hail them.”

 

Uhura swung around on her chair, fingers flicking over her instrument panel. “Channel open, Captain. Audio only.”

 

“ _Ahn’Vahr_ , you are unable to fire mock shots and War Game rules state-”

 

“Incoming photon torpedo!” Chekov suddenly warned and, without needing any order to do so, Sulu swung _Enterprise_ as hard to starboard as he could. The torpedo skimmed their belly close enough to gouge a screaming valley in the hull plating.

 

_“Captain Kirk, you will yield or be fired upon again.”_

 

“I-”

 

“Captain, the Admiral is hailing us,” Uhura said, and they could all hear an echoed report from the _Ahn’Vahr’s_ communications officer as well.

  
Jim grimaced. “Put him on.”

 

Pike’s grim face appeared on the screen.  
  
_“Captains, stand down immediately and return to the station. Both your ships are disqualified from the games.”_

 

“But, Admiral, he f-”

 

_“Excuses can wait until you get back here. Also, the repairs on both your ships will be docked from your pays for as long as it takes to return the funds to Starfleet.”_

 

Jim fell grimly silent as the Admiral signed off.

 

“Captain, should I set a course?” Sulu asked, though he was already doing so.

 

Jim waved an affirmative and they started to limp back to the station alongside the still-smoking _Ahn’Vahr_.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Jim stood at parade rest, hands folded behind his back as he glared down at the station through the floor-to-ceiling viewports which dominated the walls of the corridor outside Admiral Pike’s office. From here, its six circular living and working rings looked perfectly uniform, slowly rotating around the central column which housed the station’s Starfleet command center.

 

Crisp steps approached from the other end of the corridor and Jim saw his own lip curl in the dim reflection of the viewports before he schooled his features.

 

“Captain,” he greeted, congratulating himself inwardly on the calmness of his tone.

 

“Captain,” was the reply, calmer still.

 

“Nice shooting,” Jim went on, refusing to give in to the itching between his shoulder blades signifying the instinctive need not to have his back to an enemy. He wouldn’t give the prick the satisfaction.

 

“Yourself as well. It was quite… _clever_ of you to come up with such a plan.”

 

The way he said ‘clever’ made Jim want to punch him in the face - like it was some cute trick a chihuahua had learned. Thankfully, the Admiral’s door hissed open in that moment. “Enter.”

 

They headed inside and Jim stood at attention before the Admiral’s desk, gaze fixed ahead.

 

“Captain Spock,” Pike said warningly. “Attention will do.”

 

Jim glanced aside despite himself and there was a long moment before Spock shifted laconically from parade rest to attention. “I fail to see why I am even here.”

 

“Is that so? Shall I enlighten you, Captain?” Pike asked tightly.

 

“Forgive me, Admiral,” Spock replied without even the slightest hint of actual repentance in his tone. “I only meant I fail to understand why I have not been sent to Admiral Verak.”

 

“Because, _Captain_ , I’m the one who called you in for your highly inappropriate behaviour.”

 

“Mine, Sir? The _Ahn’Vahr_ is the ship now incapable of firing phasers.”

 

Jim bristled, but he bit his tongue for the time being.

 

“And the _Enterprise_ incapable of anything more than fifty percent evasive maneuvers,” Admiral Pike replied. “And you fired first, Captain.”

 

“It is in our directives for wargames to ensure humans are prepared for any eventuality.”

 

Jim’s hands fisted behind his back.

 

“There’s no such directive in the outlines.”  
  
Spock’s eyes slid to Pike and away again. His tone was condescending when he said again; “It is in _our_ directives.”

 

Pike tensed. “Your directives?”

 

“Indeed, Sir.”

 

“This is Starfleet, Captain. We all function under the _same_ directives.”

 

“Of course, Admiral,” Spock said. His face was impassive, but it seemed to Jim he was just _bored_.

 

“Permission to speak, Admiral?” Jim asked tightly.

 

“Granted.”

 

Jim turned on Spock, pointing at him so jerkily he almost poked him in his stupidly stiff shoulder. “You could have killed my tactical officer.”

 

“We made no fatal attacks,” Spock replied calmly, not even looking at him.  
  
“His instrument panel fed back and exploded on the first shot you put across _Enterprise’s_ bow!”

 

“It is hardly our fault humans cannot maintain their equipment.”

 

Jim growled. “It’s your fault you fired _real_ phasers during _wargames_.”

 

Spock finally turned to him, his lip curling every so slightly. “What difference should it make to any of us on the _Ahn’Vahr_ if one human dies?”  
  
“Mr. Spock-” Pike started, but the Vulcan went on.

 

“Your species is _inferior_ and this little experiment your government has contrived to play at being anything else is something we are only putting up with for the sake of harmony.”

 

“ _Harmony_ ? You _fired_ on my _ship_!” Jim advanced on him, right into his space. “And I know why, too. Because I handed you your ass in the shuttle race and you can’t deal with that.”

 

The satisfaction he got when Spock’s eyes narrowed reached right down to his core. It wasn’t much, but for a Vulcan, it was tantamount to a scowl.

 

“Our directives-”

 

Jim made a derisive sound through his teeth. “Your directives. Yeah, of course. Should’ve known. It’s a pretty simple directive, isn’t it? Keep the humans in their place.”

 

Spock didn’t say anything, but his brows rose and fell just slightly, a motion Jim had long ago come to realise indicated his agreement. He wanted to punch the smug bastard, and his hand fisted for just that, but Pike stepped between them.

 

“Enough,” he said coolly. “Captain Kirk, Captain Spock, you are both confined to quarters for the remainder of the wargames. Your ships will be repaired and your seconds-in-command put in charge. Your crews should not be deprived of this training exercise because of your egos.”

 

“Sir, I believe Admiral Verak-”

 

“I didn’t ask him,” Pike cut in. “And he can’t override my decision because I already logged it.”

 

Spock’s eyes narrowed slightly again, then he shifted back to attention. “Aye, Sir.”

 

“Get out of my office, both of you, and straight back to your quarters.”

 

“Yes, Admiral,” Jim said and turned on his heel, marching out. He could feel Spock’s presence right behind him

 

They were almost all the way to the turbolifts, where they would separate, when Spock spoke. “I hope you are quite pleased with yourself, Kirk.”

 

Jim knew he shouldn’t react, but goddamn if the pointy eared goblin wasn’t pushing all his buttons. He wheeled around, gesturing at Spock. “Excuse you, Mr. Spock. Not to sound juvenile or anything, but you started it!”

 

“I have grown used to the juvenile nature of your species,” Spock replied, sounding bored. “And I ‘started it’, as you say, for your own benefit.”

 

“For our own- You nearly killed Ensign Chekov!”

 

“That was entirely unforeseen, I assure you. None of our original shots were intended to injure anyone aboard _Enterprise_.”

 

“Yeah, well, you nearly killed him instead. And you haven’t even pretended to be sorry.”

 

Spock met his gaze, impassive, but so smug as always. “Vulcans do not lie.”

 

Jim wanted to punch him. Badly. But he’d brawled with Spock before and always come off second best. Even his craftiness and ability to think creatively were no match for Spock’s superior strength and speed. Instead, he turned on his heel and made for the turbo lift furthest away from Spock.

 

“Good human. Down you go,” Spock said just as the doors of the lift were closing.

 

Jim rammed his fist into the wall.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Spock was reading quietly, bare feet resting comfortably in the thick pile of the carpet when his communicator bleeped. His eyes slid to it and he took a breath before he brought it up on screen.

 

“Admiral Verak. Thank you for responding to my communication.”

 

Verak watched him impassively for a moment, then; “What do you need, Captain Spock?”

 

“I should think that would be obvious, Sir. Admiral Pike has confined me to quarters.”

 

“I am aware.”

 

Verak said nothing more and Spock arched a brow. “I was following orders, Admiral. I should not have to-”

 

“You fired live rounds in wargames, Captain,” Verak cut in.

 

“Only on a human ship.”

 

Verak sighed. “Captain Spock, what you seem to be failing to grasp is that Starfleet is an effort to give humans a sense of equality.”

 

Spock didn’t frown, because he dare not show such an obvious emotion in front of Verak. “Our directives were to ensure the Captains and crews of human ships are prepared for any eventuality. I was merely following orders.”

 

“At no time were you ordered to use live weapons, _Captain_. At no time was it even intimated you were authorised to or should use live weapons. You have made an inference based on your emotional response to Captain James Kirk.”

 

“I have no emotional response to Captain James Kirk.”

 

“Then why did you fire live weapons in direct violation of wargames regulations?”

 

“Our directives stated-”

 

“To _prepare_ them, not to _kill_ them.”

 

Spock fell silent, studying the Admiral’s face. His lip curled just slightly. “It seems I made a miscalculation, Admiral. It will not happen again.”

 

“Indeed not, for you are removed from the games and confined to quarters.”  
  
“Admiral-”

 

“Even if I could overturn this decision I would not. What you did was reckless and disgraced us all. You are lucky you have not been stripped of your rank all together, do you understand that?”

 

“Yes, Admiral. I understand.”

 

The Admiral gave a short nod and discontinued the transmission.

 

Spock paced across his quarters, moving from the living area into the small bedroom. He regarded the spread of stars beyond the viewport and meditated on the Admiral’s final words. He understood them. But that did not mean it was easy to watch that arrogant child stride around in the same uniform as his own.

 

Something about James Tiberius Kirk had always rubbed him the wrong way. They had gone through the Academy together - insofar as humans and Vulcans were ever together in Starfleet. Always, always, James T. Kirk had sat alongside his own name, scoring just below or just above him in every test, check and balance.

 

When they graduated, there he was at every turn, earning new ranks at the same pace as Spock himself, until they’d both been given ships of their own. And Kirk was probably (definitely) right. That he had beaten Spock in this year’s Starfleet shuttle race was a source of endless frustration to the Vulcan, especially given the rest of his Vulcan acquaintances wouldn’t let him forget it.

 

_Beaten by a human. What an embarrassment._

 

But he refused to acknowledge the Admiral’s assertion that he had an _emotional_ response to Kirk. It wasn’t emotional, it was… status quo. Kirk constantly bucked the status quo and it was Spock’s belief he needed to be put back in his place, or they’d all start doing it.

 

Spock collected his meditation lamp and took it back through to the living area, setting it on the low coffee table and kneeling before it. He folded his hands ritualistically once he had lit the flame and focussed on it, dropping easily into the calm state of mind required for meditation.

 

Whatever skerics of emotion might have risen in his encounters today, they would soon be dealt with.

 

Just as, one day soon, he would deal with James T. Kirk.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Jim’s foot twitched restlessly against the threadbare carpeting as he watched _Enterprise_ swing defensively around a torpedo volley from the _Hercules_ , as restless as a sports fan watching a close game. That was what he felt like, unable to do anything but watch as his ship and the _Ahn’Vahr_ remained neck and neck in the scoring.

 

Hikaru was doing an amazing job. There was no way they could catch the rest of the field, since the other ships had been at it for a couple of days while _Enterprise_ and _Ahn’Vahr_ were docked and undergoing repairs, but by god he wanted his crew to beat Spock’s. And he knew they would want the same thing.

 

_Hercules_ didn’t land even one of their torpedo shots and Jim recognised one of Hikaru’s own evasive patterns. _Enterprise_ swept beneath the other ship and fired a string of photon shots along her underside, scoring heavily as they all registered good hits.

 

“Yes,” Kirk hissed, jumping up off the bed and fistpumping the air – a move which almost skinned his knuckles as his fist connected with the ceiling of his quarters. “Ow.” He shook his hand out and settled back down.

His small room had never felt more cage-like than it did right now, confined inside with nowhere else to go. The games had three days left to go, but Jim thought he might lose his mind before that. He wasn’t exactly built to be sedentary.

He left the games playing but picked up his report on the altercation between the ships that had landed him here. He was endeavouring to ensure it was as accurate and matter-of-fact as possible, because he knew Spock’s would be. He couldn’t afford to let emotion creep into it or it would be seen as inferior and untrue.

 

But it was hard. He kept thinking of that smug bastard’s face, his complete lack of remorse for the near-death of Chekov. Then again, it shouldn’t be that surprising - the goblins had no remorse for anything.

 

Jim had been born into a world that was already well in the grip of the Vulcan’s ‘improvement plan’. It meant vegetarian diets, curfews, knowledge pod schools and a metric tonne of meditation. Humanity’s biggest problem, by popular Vulcan opinion, was of course their inability to control their emotions. Jim had always hated meditating, probably because he’d been so bad at it. But he’d had to improve to get a post in Starfleet, and he used it now. It was never one hundred percent effective, but it did help to soothe him so he could get through the report.

 

When he was done, he put it aside. He would check it again later and make one hundred percent sure it was factual. He rolled his shoulders and turned his attention back to the games.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

The debriefing was the end of their enforced ‘holiday’ and Jim was very pleased to be back with his crew, sitting listening and watching while various Fleet Captains and Commodores dissected the movements of the wargames, highlighting particular teaching points. He listened attentively - anything he could learn that assisted him in keeping the _Enterprise_ in one piece and under his command was a bonus as far as he was concerned.

 

After the debriefing was dinner. Jim enjoyed this too, absorbed by his bridge crew’s recounts of the games from their side. There was a definite merriment about their table - they had overtaken the _Ahn’Vahr_ by fifty points.

 

Jim was bringing back a tray of drinks for his crew when he saw Spock sitting a little apart from his crew, face impassive as always. But there was something about him that translated to Jim as his maybe being upset.

 

He hesitated, then went over.  
  
“Captain?”

 

Spock looked up, arching his brow in that manner Jim found infuriatingly derisive. “Captain?” he inquired.

 

Immediately, Jim felt excruciatingly stupid for having come over. “It’s… uh… good to be out, huh?”

 

The other brow rose to meet its fellow. “What do you want?” Spock asked shortly.

 

“Nothing. Nothing, I just thought… I thought you looked lonely.”

 

Spock didn’t give a snort or laugh, but he somehow gave the impression of such a reaction with the slightest tilt of his head. “Vulcans do not get ‘lonely’. And even if I was, I should hardly seek _your_ company.”

 

Jim scowled. “Right, of course. Sorry to have bothered you.” He started to turn.

 

“As you should be,” Spock replied aloofly and Jim took a slow, steadying breath.

 

He’d gone two steps when he decided he couldn’t let that alone. He turned and went back one step when another Vulcan, failing to look, pushed his chair out and clipped Jim’s elbow, sending the entire tray flying. The drinks went all over half Spock’s crew, including Spock himself.

 

He hadn’t meant it. The whole thing had been an accident, but holy shit, it was funny. Jim clapped a hand to his mouth to try to stifle the reaction, but he couldn’t completely. Spock stood and as always that face was impassive, but Jim could tell he was _fuming._ That was confirmed when Spock actually stepped right up into his space.

 

“You did that on purpose,” he accused.

 

“Oh please. Were you even _watching_?” Jim replied, still amused. “Look, I didn’t mean it. It’s no big deal.”

 

“You have covered us in alcoholic beverages.”

 

“...Agreed, but it’s not like I picked up the glasses and threw them at you on purpose.”

 

Spock studied him for a long moment, then; “Nor did we almost kill your crewman on purpose.”

 

Jim’s frivolity was gone like a drop of water on Vulcan. “That’s not the same.”

 

“This matters little to you. That mattered little to us,” Spock replied smoothly.

 

Jim punched him. It was a good one, too. Spock didn’t see it coming for once and it connected sweet with his nose. He went sprawling back across two of his crewman, all of whom were immediately rising from their seats. But Jim’s crew had his back, they were up as well and when Spock’s First Mate, a deceptively slender, tall female Vulcan, calmly strode towards Jim, Scotty cut her off. There was a weird sort of scuffle before she landed a punch in his belly, and then it was on.

 

Half the room was fighting before the Vulcan and Human Admirals could even begin to bark orders, let alone keep control.

 

Pike pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have to do something about this,” he said to Verak.

 

“Indeed,” Verak replied.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Jim felt an ominous sense of foreboding as he sat across from Admiral Pike. He’d _never_ been given a chair when the Admiral summoned him and, though the padd that sat between them looked innocuous enough, Jim likened it to the rattlesnake he’d found in his sleeping bag once when he was out camping with a friend. He hadn’t been invited to activate it and he couldn’t decide if he was desperate to see it, or desperate not to.

 

“Captain Kirk.”

 

He dragged his eyes up from the padd.

 

“Admiral?”

 

“Star Fleet was created to be a joint venture between the Vulcans and we humans, a way of bridging the gap that has appeared since their arrival.”

 

“Appeared? Sir, they cult-”

 

“Perhaps, but they tire of it, as we do. Many of the Vulcan High Council consider us… a lost cause, if you will-” Jim made a disgusted ‘tch’ sound. “-which is actually good for us because they will begin to relax their hold.”

 

“They like it too much to relax it,” Jim snapped.

 

Pike took a calming breath and shook his head a little. “Some Vulcans wish to remain, but for that to happen, naturally, this… class divide between us _must_ lessen. Hence, Star Fleet.”

 

Jim shifted in his chair. “Forgive me, Admiral, but if that’s true, why are their quarters at this very base so much better than ours? Don’t try to tell me they’re not, because they have the same number of officers and crewmen stationed at this base, but _four_ living and working rings to our two. And I’ve seen the specs of every ship in the fleet - _Enterprise_ is our flagship, but she doesn’t measure up to any but the most lowly of the Vulcan ships.”

 

Pike was silent.

 

“The reason Chekov nearly died was because his station was patched up with outdated wiring the last time we were docked for repairs, while the _Ahn’Vahr_ requisitioned the newest damn led lights for nothing more than decorating her hull.”

 

“Sit down, Captain,” Pike said sharply.

 

Jim did. He hadn’t even realised he was standing up. “I’m sorry, Admiral. It just makes me angry.”

 

“I’m aware,” Pike replied dryly. “That’s why _Enterprise_ has been put into the hands of a human-Vulcan co-op team-”

 

“You’ve _taken_ my _ship_?!”

 

Pike huffed. “An _engineering_ team, headed by a _human_ for upgrades and refits for your new mission.” He tapped the padd.

 

Jim glanced at it, the snake-feeling lodging back in his gut, then up to Pike again.

 

“What’s this about?” he asked warily, gripping the arms of the chair.

 

“You and Captain Spock are… to put it simply… ringleaders. Your crews and the crews of so many other ships look up to you. As long as the two of you are at loggerheads, we won’t fix this.”

 

“There _is_ no fixing it, Admiral!” Jim protested. “They’re _all_ , to a one, arrogant, selfish, holier-than-thou motherf-”

 

“Jim.” The name was a sigh of both affection and exasperation, but it halted Jim in his tirade, drawing his attention back. “Whether you like it or not, your new mission _is_ to fix it. _Enterprise_ is no longer going to be the _human_ flagship, but the _Star Fleet_ flagship. Half your crew and half that of the _Ahn’vahr_ are trading places.”

 

“ _What_?!”

 

Pike pushed on, raising his voice over Jim’s protests. “You will select the crew who transfer to the _Ahn’vahr_ and Captain Spock will select the crew who transfer to _Enterprise_. Then both crews have been tasked with reconnoitring that damned Klingon outpost they’ve been building on the border planet.”

 

“Sir, I don’t th-”

 

“I don’t _care_. No. No, that’s not true. I do care. I care about our future and Star Fleet’s future and you should too. You are going to have to put aside your own prejudices-”

 

“ _Prejudices_? Sir, I fucking grew up belittled and berated by-”

 

“ _Enough_ . I have _not_ given you permission to speak. Just listen. You have to make this work, Jim. _That’s_ your mission. You and Spock are going to have to work together.” He took a deep breath and Jim felt like something even worse was coming. “To that end, Captain Spock is going to be your First Officer.”

 

For the first time since this whole bizarre encounter had begun, Jim was speechless.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Spock was speechless. He stared at Verak and knew he was not doing the best job of maintaining an emotionless visage. Verak waited, and after a long moment, Spock finally found his tongue.

 

“Forgive me, Admiral, I believe I must have misheard. First Officer?”

 

“You did not ‘mishear’,” Verak said, almost sounding bored, if Vulcans ever did. “You and Captain Kirk are… for lack of a better word, ringleading this business of Vulcan against human and it has to stop.”

 

“They are _inferior_ , Sir,” Spock said tightly.

 

“If you cannot break yourself of that habitual reaction, _Commander_ , then I suggest you resign your commission and go back to Vulcan with others who cannot come to terms with the way things are changing.”

 

Spock shook his head. He wasn’t going to give up.

 

“That is what I thought,” Verak said. “So this is the only way, Commander. Your First Officer will take your position for the time being and the _Ahn’Vahr_ and the _Enterprise_ will undertake this mission.”

 

Spock took a breath and pressed his lips together, then gave a short nod. “Yes, Sir.”

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Jim felt weird. Twitchy. Like he was under review. Probably not a surprise, since the only times there had been a Vulcan on his bridge in his entire career had been when he was under review. Now there was one just off his shoulder, to whom he could supposedly give orders, on whom he was supposed to rely and in whom he was supposed to trust.  
  
In front of him, Hikaru was at the helm, a figurative thundercloud gathered over his head. He’d been Jim’s First Officer as long as Jim had been in a position to have one. Jim had offered to send him to the _Ahn’Vahr_ , to trade Captain for First Officer, so he could keep his ranking, but he’d refused - _“Do you you really think I’m leaving you alone with that green-blooded asshole?”_

 

“Captain,” Uhura said into the heavy silence, broken only by _Enterprise’s_ usual pings, bleeps and low hums of warp. “I’m picking up subspace chatter in Klingon. They’re unaware of us currently, but we may cross paths soon.”

 

Jim nodded.

 

“There is a nebula off our port bow we could use as cover… Captain,” Spock put in, and Jim wasn’t the only one who jumped slightly. Spock ignored their reaction - if he even noticed it - and brought the gas cluster up on screen. “It is harmless enough. Both _Ahn’Vahr_ and _Enterprise_ can go through it easily enough, though it may get a little rough.”

 

“We could just go around it - keep it between us and them,” Hikaru suggested.

 

There was a beat of silence in which Jim felt Spock was controlling an instinctively holier-than-thou response to Hikaru’s suggestion. He took a breath through his nose. “Yes, that is also a possibility, but we run the risk of miscalculating and coming into scanner range of the Klingon vessels. If we are _ins_ -”

 

“You think because we’re human we’re going to ‘miscalculate’?” Hikaru asked tightly. Chekov glanced at him, and the four Vulcan crewmen who had traded places with their human counterparts looked up, tension filling the air where there had only been an awkward alertness before.

 

“I did not say that,” Spock said calmly, far better at diplomacy than Jim was, he had to admit. “I would have made the same assessment regardless of the crew.”

 

“Of course you-”

 

“Mr. Sulu,” Jim said sharply. “Remember you’re speaking to your commanding officer, please.”  
  
Hikaru’s eyes snapped to Jim, looking betrayed, but Jim had orders and, having read the data padd concerning this mission and its reasonings, he meant to do his best to follow them.

 

“Captain-”

 

Jim shook his head. “You will show Mr. Spock the respect expected for _any_ commanding officer, am I clear?”

 

Silence for a long, tense moment, then Hikaru subsided. “Yes, Captain.”

 

Jim stepped down to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not saying you can’t have a voice, Mr. Sulu, or that we won’t listen to what you have to say. But I expect you to show the same respect to Mr. Spock that you would expect any of the crew to show you.”

 

Hikaru nodded, jaw tight. “I understand, Captain.”  
  
Jim didn’t think he did, but he didn’t press the issue. He looked up at the nebula, sucking his teeth. “Let’s go in. It’s more exciting that way, right?”

 

He slapped Spock’s shoulder as he passed him and the Vulcan raised his brows, but said nothing.

 

The ride was rough, as Spock had warned, but it proved the right decision. Two Klingon Birds-of-Prey swung lazily around the nebula about an hour later. They didn’t register either the _Enterprise_ or the _Ahn’Vahr_ , and went on.

 

“Lieutenant Uhura,” Spock said politely. He’d shown at least a willingness to try this ridiculous idea, much like Jim, and had come aboard with as firm a knowledge of the Human crew both still aboard _Enterprise_ and those on board _Ahn’Vahr_ now as Jim had of the Vulcans. “What were they saying?”

 

“They were talking about the outpost - they’re on patrol to keep it protected. It seems to be very important to them.”

 

Spock nodded. “Please take recordings and make translations of everything they said, if you could, Lieutenant,” he said.

 

“Of course, Commander.”  
  
Jim glanced at him. “What are you thinking, Mr. Spock?”

 

“Nothing yet, Captain,” Spock replied.

 

Jim didn’t believe that for a minute, but he let it alone for now. Whatever plan the Vulcan was brewing, eventually he would have to bring it to Jim.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

‘Eventually’ turned out to be after they had languished in the nebula for nearly five hours, waiting for the path between them and the outpost to be completely clear. Chekov had identified a nearby moon whose gravitational field would provide the same sort of cover as the nebula, and they had plotted the best route to it, but there was still enough Klingon activity to force them to wait.

 

Jim was in his quarters, at his desk, studying the scant information they already had on the outpost when there came a knock.

 

“Enter.”

 

Spock did, closing the door behind him.

 

Jim looked up and gave a tight smile. “Thinking something now, are we?”

 

“Indeed… Captain,” Spock replied. Always, there was that briefest of pauses, as though it hurt Spock to use the title. Jim didn’t mind. He liked that Spock hated this so much.

 

He indicated the chair across the desk from him and leaned forward. Even if it was Spock, he wasn’t going to be discourteous or disinterested in what his First Officer had to say.

 

“Captain, our orders state we are to take reconnaissance of that outpost, yes?”

 

“Yes, of course, you read them the same as I did.”

 

“I believe if we swing around the planet to its other side and take a shuttle down the surface, we should be able to fly it low enough to come in under their defences.” He pressed a long finger to a particular point on the plans Jim had been studying. “We could land here safely without detection, then approach on foot and infiltrate the base. In this way, we could take exceptionally detailed scans of the outpost for further use by Starfleet.”

 

Jim frowned. He’d been known to do reckless things in his career - so much so that he’d almost been stripped of his ship on two occasions - but he didn’t think he’d ever heard of a Vulcan suggesting something like this.

 

“That… isn’t what our orders say…” he said slowly.

 

“Our orders say we’re to ‘gather information’,” Spock replied. “They do not detail how.”

 

Again, he’d used the same sorts of technicalities to get away with shady business before, but he was pretty sure that sort of thing wasn’t in Vulcan nature.

 

“They definitely don’t say we’re allowed to infiltrate,” Jim pointed out dryly.

 

“The Klingons are a threat,” Spock said flatly in his ‘humans are inferior’ voice. Jim hated the voice, but had to agree with the sentiment. “We need as much intel as we can get.”

 

“I agree, but-”

 

“I understand,” Spock said nodding and standing up. “You are wary - afraid even. That is completely reasonable for a human.”

 

Jim scowled, part of him completely understanding Spock was manipulating him, but the rest of him not giving a toss. “I am _not_ afraid.”

 

“No, no,” Spock placated. “It is well to allow your emotions free reign over you. This is something I have to learn to accept, so my Admiral tells me.” And he turned for the door.

 

“Fine, but I’m not asking any of the crew to do this.”

 

“I would expect nothing else,” Spock said, dipping and turning his head back towards Jim. “Just you and I, then?”

 

“That’s against regulation.”

 

“Just a volunteer and myself…?”

 

Jim scowled. He hated that idea. It was regulation, of course, but he did _not_ want to leave Spock alone with one of his crew, or worse, alone with one of Spock’s own. And if he was honest with himself (he wasn’t) he didn’t want Spock taking all the glory.

 

“You and me,” he said finally, sharply.

 

Spock nodded. “Very well… Captain. Very well.”

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“I did tell you not to touch that particular button!” Spock bellowed - yes bellowed, quite unbecoming of a Vulcan - over his shoulder as they dove out of the doorway of the outpost, phaser fire virtually burning their heels.

 

“You told me it would ‘be unwise’ and ‘probably not the best idea’ to touch that damn button!” Jim protested, throwing his arm over his head and ducking the next volly.

 

“Which means do not touch it!”

 

“Then just damn well say ‘don’t touch it’, instead of leaving me to guess!” Jim cried.

 

Spock didn’t answer. A shuttle shot out of the exit they’d just used, speeding low to the ground and catching up to them rapidly. A young Klingon, probably only in whatever passed for teenage years by their species’ standards, leapt out of the hatch, canonning into the Vulcan’s back. They rolled over and over and the ship peeled off, heading back to the compound. Evidently the youngster was expected to deal with them.

 

He and Spock locked almost immediately in brutal combat, the young Klingon’s ritual knife flashing in the setting sun. Jim held his phaser on them, but they were moving too fast for him to take a shot. And although he sometimes might _want_ to shoot Spock, he knew it wasn’t really advisable.

 

The boy was snarling in Klingon and Spock was answering him in kind, the guttural language sounding even harsher in the Vulcan’s usually calm and smooth tone. Whatever he was saying only seemed to piss the boy off more.

 

Spock seemed to have the upper hand in strength, but the boy was wiry and Jim thought Spock was probably holding back, not wanting to really hurt what was essentially a kid - even if that kid was perfectly willing to kill him.

 

Spock got hold of the wrist with the knife, then got a hand around the other wrist and started to push the boy off. But he thrust himself forward and up, opportunistic, and sank his sharp little teeth into the point of Spock’s ear. Spock didn’t cry out - he was Vulcan after all - but he definitely grunted and his whole body jerked beneath the boy, attempting to throw him off as he grinned down at Spock, spitting green blood back in his face.

 

The victory was momentary, however. Perhaps he got a little cocky and lost concentration, but the heaving of Spock’s body finally yielded some success. The boy tumbled to one side, the knife flying out of his hand, and Jim wasted no time in stunning him.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked breathlessly. He didn’t know much about Vulcan ears, other than that they had better hearing than his own. For all he knew, there could be a major vein or blood vessel in there.

 

“I will live,” Spock replied, reaching up to touch his bleeding ear. He winced. One other thing Jim _did_ know about those fluted points was their sensitivity. Spock drew his hand back, studying the green blood on his fingertips, then; “Did he bite it clean off?”

 

Jim cocked his head. “Are you… is that _vanity_ asking?” he questioned.

 

Spock gave him a withering look, but he didn’t deny it. “Just answer the question.”

 

Jim laughed a little despite himself. It was almost - no, it was _definitely_ endearing. Jim had spent his whole life believing Vulcans were nothing but logic and superiority, and Spock had nothing to disavow him of that notion prior to their enforced partnership. But here was a little humanity, for lack of a better word, a bit of worry at the thought of a blemish.

 

“No,” he said, putting Spock out of his misery. “No, he didn’t bite it off. Can I see it?”

 

“We would be better returning to Enterprise where Dr. McCoy can look at it,” Spock replied.

 

Jim shrugged and opened his communicator. “Landing party to Enterprise. Enterprise, come in.”

 

_“There you are. We’ve been hailing you for nearly an hour,”_ came Hikaru’s voice. It sounded weirdly tinny and far away - more so than usual.

 

“Sorry. We ran into a… little trouble…” Jim said dryly. “What-”

 

_“They found us, Captain. Hit us hard._ Ahn’Vahr _is without warp and_ Enterprise’s _shields and torpedos are down.”_

 

Jim swore and Spock gave him a disapproving look. “We need to get back there. They found us too.”

 

_“I’m sorry, Captain, but we’re too far away to transport you, and the area is too congested with Klingons to send a shuttle at this time.”_

 

Jim was silent, stunned.

 

_“We’re hiding from them at the moment, and they can’t find us, but we need to affect repairs before we can come back for you. Neither ship is in a position to fully defend the other’s weaknesses. I’m sorry, Captain, but for now you’re on your own. We-”_

 

Hikaru’s voice cut off, and no amount of activating, deactivating, or slamming the communicator against a nearby rock would make it come back.

 

Eventually, Jim sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Well, I better look at that ear.”

 

Spock looked uncertain, in fact, he looked about to decline. “I do not-”

 

“It could get infected. Does Klingon saliva have antiseptic properties like dogs, or is it the opposite?” Jim asked innocently.

 

Spock huffed, but he sat down and turned his injured ear towards Jim, who came over, rubbing his hands with sanitiser from the small medpack they’d brought with them. He took a couple of antiseptic swabs out as well and began to clean away the coagulating blood as gently as he could. Spock was trying to remain passive, but some of the pain showed through in slight winces and twitches of his face.

 

“I don’t think it’s too bad. It’s already stopped bleeding. Might scar though, and I can tell it hurts you,” Jim said. “I better cover it up, keep it clean.”

 

Spock nodded slightly, then held perfectly still while Jim carefully covered the tip of his ear with gauze and medical tape. It wasn’t pretty, but it would do the job, and Spock let out a long breath when Jim finally backed off.

 

“Thank you,” he said once he had recovered his equilibrium.

 

Jim nodded. “Any time.”

 

There was a momentary silence, the slightest sliver of camaraderie forming between them. Jim opened his mouth to speak.

 

The young Klingon groaned and rolled over and Jim swore instead, then grabbed a fistful of Spock’s uniform shirt, hauling him to his feet. “We better get going. We were probably supposed to be his first kill, and he won’t give up easy.”

 

Spock nodded and they hurried off into the rocky crags that surrounded the Klingon outpost.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Jim did a lot of camping when he was younger, mostly with friends, away from the strict rules, regulations and logical boundaries imposed on them by their Vulcan masters, for lack of a better word. Eventually, they always got caught, resulting in a couple of hours at least spent revising those same rules, regulations and logical boundaries. The flutter in his belly, therefore, was almost expected, because Spock’s face, lit by orange flickers, put him back to those moments when their fire was stamped out, they were hauled off the fallen logs and frogmarched back to the compound.

The fire was a risk and they both knew it, but they’d been stuck here now for three days and a proper meal was in order. They’d squabbled over whether it was a better idea to light the fire during the day or night, but eventually settled on night time with the thought a column of smoke would be more easily seen during the day, than a low fire during the night.

It had been easy to find food for Spock – there were plenty of edible greens and a kind of tuber he said tasted alright raw, though Jim wasn’t game to try it. Then again, a Vulcan’s idea of ‘alright’ was ‘completely bland’, so it probably didn’t taste like much of anything. Jim did eat the greens, but despite Spock’s assertions they were ‘elegant suffice’, he felt like even if he had a truck load, it wouldn’t be enough sustenance.

 

Luckily, a fat grazing animal lived among the low plants and grasses of the hills. It was a weird creature, sort of like some strange hybrid of pig and cow, but it only had three legs, two at the rear and one in the center at the front. It seemed an odd choice for evolution, but the creatures moved easily enough. Not easily enough to escape phaser fire, however, so Jim was currently turning a chunk of meat on a spit above their fire, despite Spock’s disapproving stares.

 

Jim poked at the fire, thinking back again to those furtive camping trips. “What is it about us that makes you think you’re so superior?” he wondered suddenly, without even thinking about it, or even really being aware he was going to.

 

Spock blinked at him. “Emotion, mostly. And hygiene.”

 

“Hygiene? Our hygiene is just fine!”

 

“It does not smell that way,” Spock said, nose wrinkling. “But as I said, the greater contributing factor is emotion.”

 

“But you have emotion. I mean, not you specifically… well, yes, you specifically… but I meant you as in Vulcans.”

 

Spock gave him a withering look. “Yes,” he said, almost sounding bored. “But we have mastered them and they no longer control us.”

 

Jim snorted. “That’s not true.”

 

“It is entirely t-”

 

“No, it’s not,” Jim snapped. “The way you respond to me, I get under your skin. I piss you off. That’s an emotion.”

 

Spock arched a brow. “You have far too high an opinion of yourself, Captain Kirk. My only… response… to you, as you say, is to desire your betterment.”

 

“My _betterment_ …?” Jim’s voice was low, simmering with quickly sparked anger.

 

“Always, we are striving to better humanity, to raise it from the depths of its emotion-fuelled, feudal nature.”

 

Jim stared at him. “We didn’t - don’t. We _don’t_ need you to ‘better’ us,” he declared, making air quotes around the word. “You just made that decision yourself. And besides, your higher ups put you on my ship to change _your_ attitude, so I think you’re working on outdated information.”

 

Spock glared at him, but he couldn’t really refute it and Jim smirked. “See?” he added. “Right there. That’s an emotion. You’re angry.”

 

“I am… slightly frustrated, not angry,” Spock replied. “And only because you refuse to acknowledge your shortcomings.”

 

Jim rolled his eyes. He couldn’t be bothered with it any more. Whatever he said to Spock wasn’t going to change his mind. So they sat in a silence that Jim would almost term companionable, watching the fire. Sometimes, Jim was watching Spock, and he found the uncertain light softened the Vulcan’s sharp features and made the hint of green unnoticeable. If it weren’t for the pointed ears and the rigid haircut, he could pass for human.

 

Jim didn’t tell him so.

 

But after a while, the silence did get too much for Jim and he said; “At least we got a lot of information about the outpost.”

 

“Indeed,” Spock said, taking out the data pad from his small bag. He began to flick through the photos and notes they’d taken. “Though it will be of little use if they do not come back for us.”

 

“They’ll come back for us,” Jim said with conviction.

 

“It may not be the logical thing to do, if Klingon activity has increased.”

 

“Then isn’t it lucky both ships are half-human?” Jim said with a humourless smile. “They’ll come back for us.”

 

“They are also half-Vulcan. So they may not.”

 

Jim scoffed. He knew Hikaru would bring _Enterprise_ back come hell or high water, regardless of what Spock’s First Officer would do.

 

More silence. The fire cracked and popped. Again, Jim opened his mouth, but Spock beat him to it; “We should sleep.”

 

And that was the end of that.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

The sky was leaden, thick, grey clouds boiling angrily as a swift breeze whipped them into a frenzy. The temperature had dropped several degrees, no longer mild, as they worked their way further from the outpost, hoping distance would equal less Klingon hunting parties. It did seem to, though Spock hypothesised that was because the rocky terrain they were now crossing didn’t house any of the grazing creatures. He was probably right.

 

“Do you think it’s going to storm?” Jim wondered, his breath a bit short from the effort of clambering over the rocks. His hands were cold too, the tips of his fingers a little numb, though the rest of him felt hot from the physical work.

 

“It would seem a likely occurrence,” Spock replied, sounding not at all puffed or exerted. The bastard.

 

“So… we should-” He was going to say ‘find somewhere to shelter’, but at that very moment, a _sheet_ of rain slapped him in the face.

 

The storm was instant and vicious, rain lashing, thunder booming, lightning flashing. It seemed only sheer luck they weren’t actually struck by it. They both struggled to walk upright in the the whipping wind, and Jim was terribly grateful to Spock, who grabbed his arm and helped him fight his way through it.

 

Jim tried to get across to Spock they needed to find shelter, but the storm was so all-encompassing, they couldn’t hear each other. They didn’t really need to, though, because it was obvious really.

 

They half-fell into a shallow gully that at least blocked some of the wind and lessened the almost horizontal drive of the rain. Not for the first time, Spock hauled Jim to his feet and urged him onwards. Without needing to speak, they were both looking for a cave or even a small lee in the rock that might protect them. Even Spock couldn’t keep going forever in this, though he would last longer than Jim, who was shivering and weary from the fight. Soon, even he began to show signs of fatigue - a slight stumble here, a grunt of effort there.

 

Miraculously, Jim found them a hidey hole by literally falling into it. He was pressing his hand against the shallow gully wall to keep himself upright when there was suddenly no wall and he fell away from Spock, tumbling down a tunnel of scree to a tiny, pebble-strewn cave.

 

“Captain Kirk?” Spock called down, the sound of his voice echoing around the cave along with a boom of thunder.

 

“Found a cave,” Jim called back, sitting up a little gingerly. Only bruised, he was pretty sure. Spock came much more gracefully after him, a torch held up to light his way so he didn’t fall over anything.

 

“Are you well?” he asked, probably for an assessment of his functionality more than because he was worried.

 

“Fine, fine,” Jim said, flapping his hand.

 

It became apparent how small the cave was once Spock was in it as well. They were pressed in against one another and, when Jim shifted a little to get Spock’s knee out of his hip, his leg instead slid between Jim’s own.

 

It had been a while, that was true, but the sudden spark of heat jumping in his belly at the suddenly intimate flex of Spock’s muscle blindsided Jim. It made him scrabble a little to pull away, but he couldn’t get proper purchase on the loose stone and instead his hips moved more tightly up against Spock’s.

 

“Sorry,” he blurted, but Spock just gave him a bland look.

 

“For what?” he said coolly.

 

Somehow, that was even more embarrassing, like he was overreacting. In truth, he knew he was overreacting, but having Spock basically call him out on it made it that much worse. His cheeks flamed and he opened his mouth, but Spock sighed expressively and grabbed his hips.

 

“Wh-” Jim started.

 

Spock didn’t say anything for the moment. He just muscled Jim around to sit between his legs, leaning back against the wall of the cave with Jim’s back against his chest. It was more comfortable, Jim would give him that, than kneeing each other in the groin by accident. But he wondered why Spock had chosen to situate them the way he had and opened his mouth to ask. Spock beat him to it.

 

“Being human, you are more susceptible to cold. It is therefore logical for you to use as much of my body heat as possible while the storm and lower temperatures last.”

 

“Of course,” Jim said.

 

Silence fell between them as they listened to the muffled booming of thunder and hissing of driving rain. Jim’s skin, cold as it had been, began to warm where he was in contact with Spock and he could feel the Vulcan’s heart beating low against one side of his back. Up until now, he’d thought Vulcans didn’t actually _have_ hearts, not that they were just situated elsewhere. The rhythmic thud-ud, thud-ud, thud-ud was calming in its own way, as was the even rise and fall of Spock’s chest.

 

In this dim cave, resting against him, he wasn’t so bad. Jim rested his forearm on Spock’s leg, his fingertips idly shifting against his uniform pants.

 

Not so bad at all.

 

\- - - - - -

 

They had both fallen asleep some time during the wild weather and were both rudely awoken when the muddy edge of the tunnel, softened by the rain, collapsed under the weight of gathered water and doused them both in the same.

 

Jim yelped and even Spock jerked, making a restrained sound of surprise.

 

“Ah, dammit,” Jim cursed. They’d been just about dry, too.

 

They clambered up out of the cave to find the weather mild once more. The air smelled fresh and clean and there wasn’t even a breath of breeze. It was hard to believe just a few hours ago was basically armageddon.

 

“We should dry off,” Spock said, looking up at the sun. “Or we may be cold when the sun sets.”

 

Jim glanced at him, shaking muddy water off his sleeve. “Fire?” he asked.

 

“I do not believe it would be a good idea to light a fire, but the sun’s warmth should be sufficient, if we find somewhere to hang our clothes.”

 

“Our clothes?” Jim echoed, aware of the weirdly nervous tone in his voice.

 

“Yes, Captain Kirk,” Spock said with the air of one explaining to a child. “They will dry better if we take them off.”

 

Then he turned and was walking along the gully without giving Jim a chance to reply ro react. Jim had to trot a bit to catch up.

 

The rocky area was very open and neither of them felt comfortable stripping off without cover, in case of Klingons, though they hadn’t seen any hunting parties for a long while. Eventually, they came to a field of tall, golden grass, or perhaps it was a wheat-like plant. They exchanged a glance.

 

It would do.

 

They pushed their way in, the plant giving way easily enough to let them through, then springing back up so their path was completely hidden. They went someway into the grass, both wanting to have plenty of time to hear or see any Klingons or anything else that might come upon them in a vulnerable state.

 

They stripped down to their shorts and were able to lay their uniforms over bent bunches of the grass, turning the clothing perfectly towards the sun. Then all they had to do was wait, hunkered down to keep their heads from popping above the golden stalks.

 

Spock sat calmly enough, eyes closed, and Jim assumed he was meditating. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen a Vulcan sans most of his clothing. In fact, as he cast his mind back, eyes absently roaming Spock’s muscled frame, he realised he hadn’t. Not even shirtless. He also realised he was staring. Actually, literally staring.

 

He dragged his eyes away, but there wasn’t much else to look at. They were in a cocoon of tall, waving grass, curved around them in a bowl shape and open to the sky, but otherwise closed off. Watching their clothes dry was about as interesting as… well… watching paint dry.

 

Inevitably, his gaze came back to Spock. The steady rise-and-fall of his chest was somehow far more interesting than the irregular flapping of Jim’s uniform shirt or the odd cloud that scudded across the sky like a lost ship. Jim began to count, to see if the breaths really were as pinpoint regular as they seemed to be.

 

Naturally, they were. Jim wondered if Spock was counting too, timing each one, but he thought probably not, because the whole point of meditation was the absence of thought, not the presence of one… two… three… four… f…

 

Jim’s quick mind noted immediately the shortened breath and his eyes snapped guiltily up. Spock said nothing, but one brow slowly rose over his own now-open eyes.

 

“I was counting,” Jim blurted, heat rising in his face.

 

Still, Spock didn’t speak, indeed, his face didn’t even _change_ , but Jim’s face just got hotter by the second. Surely their clothes must instantly dry in the heat of it.

 

“Your breathing…” Jim scrambled. “I was… I mean, there was nothing interesting to look at, so I was… uh… watching you… breathe?”

 

Spock blinked. Just once. “I am not offended. I am well aware of the human penchant for arousal at the naked form.”

 

“Arou- Spock, I’m not _aroused_. I was just-”

 

“It is perfectly understandable. Our situation is tense and perilous and we have only one another to depend upon. It is natural your human nature should arise.”

 

Jim wanted to smack him. “My human nature?”

 

“Indeed. I am in perfect physical health and you-”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Spock,” Jim said, a scoff shaped like the Vulcan’s name more than anything. “Your ‘perfect physical health’ isn’t affecting me like that.”

 

“It was in the cave.”

 

Jim choked on his next breath, or maybe on his protests, because Spock was kind of right. Spock waited it out, though Jim wasn’t sure if that was courteous, or if he was just being studied like a bug under a microscope.

 

“That was… I mean… You know, we were pretty close. It wasn’t… specific to… my contact with you…” Why did he sound like a blithering idiot in his own ears? It could only be ten times worse in _Spock’s_ ears.

 

“It was not specific?” Spock asked curiously. “You mean contact of your penis to any man’s rectus femoris would cause-”

 

“I am not discussing my penis with you,” Jim said blandly, pretending his face was not now in supernova and hoping ‘rectus femoris’ meant leg. He was pretty sure it meant leg, but his expertise lay in engineering rather than anatomy.

 

“Why? Are you ashamed of it?”

 

“ _I’m not ash_ -” Jim started to bluster, then took a breath and instead went on with; “Like I said - not discussing my penis with you.”

 

Spock’s eyes went directly and obviously southwards. To his utter horror, Jim felt the body part in question stir with interest. He immediately opened his mouth to protest the close attention or defend the reaction, but then Spock was looking away, his head cocked slightly to one side.

 

“Wh-” Jim started, but Spock raised a hand, and then he was scrambling to his feet, hurrying to get into his clothes. Jim didn’t question him further, just followed suit.

 

Spock put a finger across his lips as they dressed, signalling the need for silence. Jim moved quietly, finishing pulling on his boots. He still couldn’t hear whatever Spock could, but he followed, trusting his hearing if not the Vulcan himself.

 

Maybe he shouldn’t have. A Klingon, much more silent than Jim himself, came up suddenly behind him. One arm wrapped around his middle, the other hand clamping over his mouth, and he was dragged back into the grass, Spock completely unaware.

 

When they came out of the grass, his captor thrust him to the ground and immediately sat astride his stomach, an all-too-familiar knife in his hand.

 

It was the damn kid from earlier. Jim scowled.

 

“Don’t you have chores to do?” he demanded, bucking beneath the kid. But he was strong and locked his knees. His eyes were chips of flint under the heavy whorles of his forehead ridges and he brought the knife to Jim’s throat.

 

“Shut up,” he growled, his Standard clear if heavily accented.

 

“Are you kidding me with this? I let you live and this is how you repay me?”

 

The Klingon bared his teeth, hissing animalistically. “You shamed me. Dishonoured me. I would gladly have fallen in battle.”

 

Right. Of _course_ he would. “Start you early, don’t they?” Jim said flippantly.

 

“I said shut up.”

 

“Look, fair’s fair. I let you live, you should do the same. If I’d left you be, Spock probably would have killed you.”

 

“ _Good_. It would have been an honourable death - to be slain by such a one. Your death will regain my honour.”

 

“I don’t th-”

 

The kid had a nasty streak, Jim thought a little deliriously, sudden awareness of the elegant blade _inside his gut_ coming to him. It was so sharp, he hadn’t felt it slide in.

 

“Shh…” the kid whispered, his sharp teeth showing in a satisfied smile. His weight pressed heavy atop Jim, atop the knife and Jim sucked in a hitching breath, edged with a whimper. The smile grew, but dimmed - no… it was Jim’s vision dimming, the pain exquisite as the kid… the _Klingon_ \- Jim couldn’t think of him as a kid now - slid the knife slowly out, lowered it a little, and pushed it in again.

 

Jim’s body jerked, convulsed under the Klingon, jagging the knife inside him. He cried out, but his captor pressed a hand over his mouth, cutting off the sound. How much blood had he lost? Had the blade hit anything vital? How long was this going to go on? Had Spock noticed him missing? Would Spock look for him? Was he dying?

 

He didn’t have an answer for any of those questions, though he was terrified he knew the answer to the last. Spider-fingers of black crawled in the edges of his vision, pain sending his fight-or-flight to a fever pitch he couldn’t respond to because blood was beginning to pool under the small of his back, taking with it all his energy.

 

This time, he felt the knife withdraw and knew it would bite into him again. “Please,” he said, his voice sounding wet and desperate in his own ears. “D-”

 

The weight was suddenly gone and he rolled instinctively onto his side, curling around his wounded belly. He coughed - sort of, it was more like a gurgle - and behind him he could hear a ferocious battle, but he couldn’t spare it any attention. He was too busy trying to stay awake, pressing his hands hard against the bleeding slices.

 

He didn’t know how long that moment lasted, but it ended with a gutteral snarl, the sickening sound of snapping bone and the thud of a limp body on the ground. Then; “Jim?!”

 

Despite the name, despite the familiar voice - or maybe because of it - Jim curled tighter when a hand fell on his shoulder. “No, no, no.”

 

The hand gentled, thumb rubbing a little at his shoulder. “Captain… Jim… it is me.” Spock’s voice was gentler than Jim had ever heard it, and the weirdest part was his use of Jim’s name.

 

Slowly, he uncurled, easing onto his back. “I… I must be… done for if… you’re c-calling me… Jim,” he said, trying for bravado. But it was very, very hard when he could taste blood on his tongue, and feel it pumping sluggishly over his fingers.

 

“I will not let you die,” Spock said firmly, taking out his medkit.

 

“Why not? You… said yourself… one less human… who cares?”

 

Spock was silent for a long moment, taking things out of his kit and setting them aside meticulously. “I will not let you die,” he repeated. He began with an injection of coagulants and painkillers, Jim knew that much. Then unconsciousness took him, and he didn’t know anything else.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

When Jim woke, the sun was lower, gilding everything gold. The grass beneath him was soft - softer than that which they had tried to hide in while they dried, and he was curled a little in around his vaguely aching midriff. His head was pillowed on his right hand and, as he came to further awareness, he realised another hand was gently curled slightly beneath his own. His left hand, too, was in gentle contact with another, finger to finger.

 

He opened his eyes. He blinked, once and again. Spock’s sleeping face was close to his own, seeming upside down to him, since Spock was curled the other way. His fingers twitched lightly against Jim’s. Spock’s thumb brushed against Jim’s hair.

 

For a long few moments, Jim just watched him, stunned. He looked so much gentler in sleep, almost human. But Jim couldn’t believe he was there, so close and touching Jim at that.

 

Carefully, he turned his left hand over under Spock’s and slid it further along, until his fingertips brushed Spock’s palm. He blinked slowly, possibly still delirious from blood loss. In fact, he was probably dreaming all this, so he could do what he liked, right? He traced his pointer and pinky fingers along the edges of Spock’s palm, his middle and ring fingers passing across the center.

 

Spock stirred, his angled brows drawing deep over his eyes and, as Jim traced his fingers back the other way, he opened them. Jim met his gaze fearlessly, repeating the movement and Spock’s entire hand twitched.

 

“Jim?” he asked in concern.

 

“Still callin’ me that?” Jim drawled. “Am I still dying?”

 

Spock scowled. “I told you I would not let you die.”

 

Spock took his hand away but, undeterred, Jim just lifted his hand to the perfectly straight line of Spock’s fringe instead, brushing through it in some vague and useless attempt to rough it up.

 

Spock looked nonplussed. “Captain, I don’t think-”

 

“Shh,” Jim said, putting his finger against Spock’s lips, which made Spock splutter in indignation. “You touched me first.”

 

“ _I_ ,” Spock declared with some largesse, brushing Jim’s hand away from his mouth. “Was keeping track of your pulse to ensure you were not _dead_.”

 

“...That’s crap,” Jim declared, his face scrunching up. His fingers found their way to Spock’s uninjured ear, brushing curiously at the tip, and that really had Spock jerking away, rolling up to a sitting position. “...Are you blushing?”

 

“No,” Spock snapped. “Vulcans do not b-”

 

“But you’re not,” Jim cut across him gently, his hand resting, now, on Spock’s knee.

 

“Not what?” Spock asked, rolling his eyes and picking Jim’s hand off him. He probably thought this was some blood loss-fuelled rambling.

 

“Vulcan. Not entirely. Are you?”

 

Spock fell silent, his face going to utter stone. His jaw set and a muscle ticked in it as Jim painfully hauled himself up to sit, pressing a hand to his wounded stomach.

 

“What?” Spock demanded eventually, sounding agitated, to say the least.

 

“You’re _not_ entirely _Vulcan_ ,” Jim said. He shook a finger at spock. “Admiral Pike told me. Your mother was human.”

 

Almost immediately, Jim realised it was maybe the worst thing he could have said, just when they were getting somewhere. Spock shut himself off completely, turning away.

 

“That,” he said in his most superior tone. “Is none of your business.”

 

Jim watched him for a long moment then reached out, touching the back of his neck, but the Vulcan shrugged him off and would not talk to him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jim blurted after about fifteen minutes of this. “I shouldn’t’ve-”

 

“No, you should not have. My parentage is none of your business, and none of Pike’s either.”

 

“But… he told me so we could… get along,” Jim said lamely, because right now, it didn’t seem like it was helping that at all.

 

Spock scoffed, shaking his head and he looked almost pained.

 

“Oh, come on, Spock. It isn’t that bad,” Jim said, sitting alongside him and putting an arm around his shoulders. Spock stiffened, but didn’t throw him off. “Being human. It really isn’t.”

 

“It is the worst thing,” Spock said tightly. “Humans are… are…”

 

Jim kissed him. It was rash and instinctive and he couldn’t really explain it, except that Spock looked so wounded and unhappy in that moment, his Vulcan mask of logic stripped away. The kiss was gentle and chaste, Jim’s hand cupped lightly against Spock’s jaw, and then he was drawing back again.

 

Spock stared at him, eyes wide and, for once - for fucking _once_ \- his Vulcan calm completely shattered. He looked both horrified and grateful, like Jim’s acceptance sickened and comforted him all at once.

 

“Hey… Listen… I shouldn-”

 

Spock kissed him. It was such a surprise, Jim didn’t respond at first, but Spock didn’t seem satisfied with chaste this time, and the dull ache where Spock had stitched him up left Jim feeling much the same way. He turned slightly into Spock and opened his mouth to the kiss, one hand going into the Vulcan’s thick, black hair.

 

Maybe he was still unconscious. Maybe he was dying. He thought that had to be the case, because surely Spock wasn’t actually kissing him, one long-fingered hand resting gently on the uninjured side of his waist.

 

But then, if it was a dream, those injuries wouldn’t hurt, right?

 

The kiss grew hungrier, developed a new urgency - or perhaps it was desperation. Spock had been _worried_ about him, Jim realised with heady surprise, his free hand twisting up in the waist of Spock’s shirt, clinging for anchorage. Then he dared to hitch it up a little, and Spock didn’t stop him.

 

He turned a little, pushing into Spock’s space, and the Vulcan’s arm wrapped carefully around his shoulders, holding him closer, not pushing him away as Jim expected. Maybe it was because they’d spent so long together in such a state of stress. Jim didn’t know, but it felt right, and it seemed Spock thought so too.

 

Jim pushed his hand up under Spock’s uniform shirt, fingers tracing the abs he’d studied so closely earlier. Spock’s hand slid up under Jim’s shirt in turn, resting against his lower back and rubbing in small circles.

 

The communicator crackled.

 

Jim was reluctant to pull back, but he heard a muffled, tinny sound that might have been a voice. They separated, Spock’s hand lingering beneath Jim’s shirt momentarily before he took it away. He reached for the communicator so Jim didn’t have to stress his stitches and flipped it open.

 

“This is Spock,” he said shortly, gaze locked with Jim’s.

 

Jim smiled a bit despite himself and Spock looked away, his attention on the thready voice that came through the little device.

 

_“It’s good to hear your voice, Sir!”_ Hikaru’s excitement was palpable and Jim knew he should feel the same way, but he didn’t, and he damnwell knew why too. _“Are you well?”_

 

“I am largely unharmed, but the Captain had a run in with a particularly vicious Klingon. He will need medical attention when we return.”

 

_“Is he alright?!”_

 

“I would not say entirely alright, but he is alive and will remain that way. I stitched his wounds, but proper attention from the Doctor will do a much better job than I.”

 

Jim wasn’t so sure about that. The stitches were perfect, small and neat, meticulous to a fault, of course. The scars would be good ones, not ugly.

 

_“We’ve made it past the Klingons up here, but we can’t get a strong lock on you yet. Is there any higher ground you can make it to?”_

 

“Affirmative,” Spock replied. “Give us about half an hour and we will be there.”

 

_“Understood. We’ll talk again then. Hikaru, out.”_

 

Spock stood and began to kick dirt into the small fire he’d built. Jim watched him in silence and that was how they made their way to the pickup point, and even how they parted ways once aboard the ship.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

“Okay, Jim, I gotta be honest. For someone who survived being stranded on a Klingon-ridden planet with the number one human-hating Vulcan in the universe and then a stabbing to boot, you look less than happy.”

 

Jim looked over from where he lay on the biobed, one arm curved over his head, the other hand resting on his bare belly. Bones had left Spock’s stitches well enough alone, simply encouraging the healing process with the regenerator. Now he was checking Jim’s blood tests and such, to ensure he didn’t have an infection or some sort of poison.

 

“I’m fine,” Jim said curtly.

 

“Really? Because y’look like someone kicked your dog.”

 

Jim scowled, turning his head away. How could he even begin to broach what had happened with Bones when he didn’t even know how to talk to Spock about it? And Spock, by his very disinterest, had made it pretty clear he didn’t want to address it or even _acknowledge_ it. Probably not a surprise - as Bones said, he was ‘the number one human-hating Vulcan in the universe’. He thought briefly about breaking Spock and the Admiral’s confidence and sharing what he knew about Spock’s human blood, but even after what had happened, he wasn’t that much of a dick.

 

“Can I go?” he asked instead of responding to Bones’ assessment. “I hate it here.”

 

“Gee, thanks.”

 

Jim smiled a little despite himself. “It’s not the company, I promise.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Kirk. Get outta here. Just leave me _all_ alone.”

“That’s how you like it,” Jim pointed out, sliding off the bed and stretching tentatively. His side felt pretty good.

“Well, I like it when people aren’t messing up my system down here, that’s true,” Bones said, grinning a little.

Jim grinned back and departed the medbay. But his grin didn’t last for long. His thoughts cast back to Spock’s lips on his own, their mingled breaths. He pushed his hand through his hair and turned towards Spock’s quarters.

He almost crashed into the Vulcan coming around a corner. Spock’s hands came out automatically to steady him.

“Thanks,” Jim said, smiling a little.

Spock didn’t smile back, just nodded slightly and went to step around him. Jim caught his arm. “Spock, we need to discuss what happened.”

Spock didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at Jim either. When he spoke, his voice held that withering ‘just-like-a-human’ tone. “We do not need to discuss anything. We were trapped together in a very stressful situation and certain… reactions occurred. It is to be expected.”

Jim’s hand fisted a little in Spock’s sleeve. “You can’t just brush this off, Spock. That isn’t fair and it isn’t-“

“The human notion of ‘fairness’ is flawed, and even within its boundaries, your postulation is incorrect. I can, in your vernacular ‘brush it off’, if I choose to as I have no emotional reaction to what happened, whether you do or not.” He brushed Jim’s hand away and Jim let him, staring with mouth agog.

 

“But… you…” he said, trailing off into nothing when no words came to mind.

 

“ _I_ am logically seeing the situation for what it was, and not giving it a significance it does not naturally carry.”

 

Jim knew he shouldn’t have expected anything else from Spock. He didn’t know what he’d thought would happen, what he’d thought the Vulcan would say.

 

“Spock, you can’t just…” Jim trailed off, because Spock was looking at him dispassionately. Anger bloomed in Jim’s breast, because it was easier than hurt. “Fuck you, Spock,” he snarled, and turned to stalk away.

 

“It is natural,” Spock called after him. “It will fade.”

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Jim pushed a hand through his hair, frustration, he was sure, evident in his face. Not that his Vulcan crewmate probably noticed or, if she did, really cared.

 

“I understand, Crewman, but no matter how hard they try, some of your human crewmates _will never_ live up to your exact standards of time.”

 

It was moments like this Jim missed Spock the most, or maybe it was less missing and more wishing he was here to deal with this shit. The integration of human and Vulcan ships was continuing and, for the most part, was going well. The same couldn’t yet be said for things like living arrangements on stations and outposts, but they were working on it.

 

For the most part, Jim didn’t mind the Vulcan contingent of his crew these days. In fact, he found them efficient and clever. If they said they were going to get things done, they got things done, and their attention couldn’t be faulted.

 

Except that it could. Like right now, when this particular Vulcan’s adherence to a _very_ strict timetable was driving he and some of the other human members of the ship completely mental.

 

“The efficiency of this ship would be improved by-”

 

“Yes, Crewman, I know. You’ve told me before, but that doesn’t change my point. You’re dismissed.”

 

“But, Captain, I-”

 

_“You are dismissed_ ,” Jim said more firmly and the crewman left, albeit with the slightest of frowns, which for a Vulcan was basically scowling.

 

Jim sighed and turned his attention back to the rosters he’d been working on when she came in. He worked late into the night, and only stopped when he was literally nodding off over the data padds. Even coffee wasn’t helping any more.

 

He stood, dragging a hand through his tousled hair and sloping across his quarters to the shower. He washed, dried and pulled on clean shorts to go to bed in, yawning so hugely his eyes watered and his jaw ached. It was a huge relief to slide between the covers and lay his head on the pillow…

 

...and be wide awake.

 

Alright. It was moments like these Jim missed Spock the most. Or, he supposed he missed the _idea_ of Spock, because of course they had never spent an actual moment like this together. The closest they had come was Jim was waking up, wounded and vulnerable, with the light touch of Spock’s hand on his own. Absently, he palmed the scars. They weren’t much - silver raised lines, crosshatched where Spock had stitched the skin together.

 

Eyes closed, he tried to sleep, but as often happened, that memory splashed across his mind’s eye. It was probably made much more beautiful and surreal by the passage of time and the way Jim held it close than it really had been.

 

Spock’s skin gilded gold by the sun, his hair jet black, dark lashes feathered across the angled perfection of his high cheekbones. The way his elegant brows had drawn down a little as he woke.

 

Jim groaned and rolled over, wrapping his covers tighter around him. It was ridiculous. He was actually _pining_ \- and for something he’d never had in the first place, really. Maybe Spock had been right. Maybe it was just their shared situation that had caused this.

 

But it had been a year. A _year_. Still he was plagued by these memories, both when he was awake and asleep. And when he was asleep, sometimes the memory turned into something altogether more ilicit.

 

Early on, he’d wondered if Spock was having the same problems, but he’d dismissed it almost straight away.

 

Tonight, the memory was especially vivid, and Jim thought it was probably because tomorrow the wargames began and he would see Spock again.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Jim told himself he hadn’t actively been listening for news of _Ahn’Vahr_ ’s arrival, but he found out she had docked within about a half hour of it happening. He also didn’t go out into the base with the express purpose of finding Spock, yet he spent several hours in the mess for no particular reason.

 

Then, there he was, with several of his crew - some human, Jim noted, though only two or three in comparison to the five or six Vulcan - in tow. They were talking intently, settling together at one of the tables with a hologram of _Ahn’Vahr_ projected up between them by some Vulcan doodad.

 

Jim couldn’t resist. He went and shouldered his way in beside Spock, shoving the Vulcan to his left aside a bit with a companionable; “Budge up there, Ceevix.” It was one of the crewman who had been on _Enterprise_ during that original mission.

 

Spock regarded him with something Jim thought might be amusement - he could only hope it was fond.

 

“Captain,” he said.

 

“Captain,” Jim replied, his stomach flip-flopping over when Spock’s gaze rested on him.

 

“I do hope you are not here to cheat,” Spock continued, indicating the model of _Ahn’Vahr_.

 

“Oh, no, I’ve already done my cheating. I hacked into the databases a week ago and checked on all the other ships.”

 

“As well you should,” Spock said approvingly.

 

Jim laughed. He’d never thought there would come a time when he’d joke like this with any Vulcan, but especially Spock. This sense of… camaraderie hadn’t developed on the planet, but on the journey back, built slowly over tentative games of chess and quiet cups of tea, once Jim had reconciled himself to the fact that Spock just wasn’t going to return his affections. He’d missed it, and he wondered if Spock had too.

 

“Anyway,” Jim went on. “I know the _Ahn’Vahr_ as well as I do the _Enterprise_. It’s the other ships I have to worry about.”

 

Spock nodded. “Agreed.”

 

A silence settled between them, felt by all at the table and the humans, at least, shifted uncomfortably until Jim broke it, saying; “Anyway, work to do, you know. Um… you should… come by my quarters for a drink or something, Spock.”

 

Spock made no reply, which was neither a yes or a no, but Jim left in haste anyway, feeling like a teenager trying to ask a date to the prom. It had started so well, but gone rapidly downhill.

 

He slumped against the edge of the turbolift, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and gave a low groan of frustration. The doors slid shut and there was silence but for the familiar hum of the turbolift until an even more familiar voice said; “Even I felt embarrassed for you.”

 

Jim jerked, straightening up, and his eyes opened wide. Spock was definitely amused now, a small, restrained smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and, fuck, but it was endearing. Jim scowled.

 

“You don’t have to find it so goddamn funny.”

 

“I am Vulcan. I find nothing funny,” Spock said, but he was properly smiling now, if only slightly.

 

“That’s a damned lie. Did you come in here just to taunt me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Jim’s scowl deepened and he turned away from Spock. The rest of the trip seemed to him to take _hours_ instead of seconds and he almost leaped for the doors when they slid open.

 

But Spock grabbed his bicep as he moved and, like it or not, he was no match for the Vulcan’s strength. He was hauled back in, tugging at Spock’s grip to no avail while the doors slid shut again.

 

“What the h-” Before he could finish the sentence, Spock had pinned him against the wall and his mouth took the rest of Jim’s sentence from him entirely - he couldn’t even remember what he’d been about to say.

 

Spock’s mouth was hungry - _starving_ to match Jim’s own, and he pushed one hand insistently up under Jim’s shirt to press his palm to the silver scars. Jim twisted against him, getting an arm free to curl around Spock’s shoulders. Spock hit a button that arrested the turbolift’s descent then pulled Jim closer still, his hands working against Jim’s back to mold him against his own body.

 

Just when Jim was getting lightheaded, Spock broke away from the kiss, instead resting his forehead against Jim’s. They were both panting and Jim had to close his eyes for a moment to control the intensity of his reaction and the hammering of his heart.

 

“Sp-”

 

“Shh.”

 

Jim opened his eyes again, looking up at Spock. He licked his lips, listening to their rapid breaths slow a bit.

 

“Wh-”

 

“Jim. Just… a minute, please.”

 

Jim was silent, but Spock was right there, his breath ghosting across Jim’s lips, and he was, after all, _only_ human. He tipped his head up, brushing his mouth against Spock’s. The kisses were feather light this time, each of them feeling one another out, tasting one another. Jim dared to bring his fingertips to Spock’s own scar, the slightly jagged reminder of their first encounter with the Klingon youngster. Spock shivered and he turned the kisses slightly hungrier again, catching Jim’s lower lip between his own briefly, then curling his tongue against it until Jim opened his mouth on a pleased sigh and Spock could gain entry.

 

Jim tipped his head back after a few moments, pressing the back of his skull to the wall and shaking his head a little. “Spock,” he drawled. “What is this?”

 

“Can you not tell?” Spock asked, now mouthing at Jim’s throat.

 

“Tell…? What…? I don’t even… know… what’s going on…”

 

Spock chuckled - actually chuckled. Maybe those humans on his crew were having a beneficial effect. “My job application,” he murmured, sucking briefly on Jim’s Adam’s Apple. “My resume. My interview. I want to come back to _Enterprise_.”

 

Jim made a strangled sound, writhing until he could get one hand against Spock’s chest and push him back. Spock let him, his face passive again, waiting.

 

“D-Don’t… That isn’t fair. You can’t play with me like that.”

 

Spock gave a slow blink. “I would not. I have missed you greatly. I have tried to ignore it, to fight it. I have thought it would fade, but it never has. The opposite is true - my desire for you, my need to be with you, has only intensified.”

 

Jim stared at him. His eyes burned, and maybe a tear or two escaped, because Spock’s thumb brushed at his cheek.

 

“Spock… I…”

 

“Please, Jim. I am sorry I left. I am sorry it has been so long.”

 

Jim lowered his head, pressing his forehead to Spock’s shoulder.

 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, you can come back. Please come back.”

 

“It would be my honour.”

 

Spock ducked down to kiss him gently again, and suddenly, Jim didn’t care who won the wargames.

 


End file.
